Don’t get me wrong, I love a good rumor as much as the next guy. Some of them are actually quite lovely and kind. Some of them have come from a really kind heart who gave one of the most amazing grains of truth. Sometimes rumors are the truth. It’s just that, most often, they are not. For shame.

Perhaps I have gone way too long being jaded by the idea that people really are generally good and that they would never want to hurt others. This may be the worst idea that I could make in my life, but I am choosing to believe that it is in fact one of the better ones. Maybe I want the world to be good.

See, you all go around, thinking that nothing good comes without a price to pay and neglect to mention that the same is true for bad things. You cannot do something bad without giving up something that would otherwise delight you. These two ideas have become fois, and, as foils, they cannot come without the other.

It has come to my attention that one can think anything which she wants. This is only the beginning of the wrongdoings. When one can think anything, what is to stop her from doing anything? There is no way to stop actions when you have so boldly fought for the right to think them up.

But she asked about my forearm. I did not want to answer. And she did not push me to say anything about it. As it always goes, I don’t know what she should have done instead, just that I did not like that, which she did do. It is so very complicated when someone wants to help. I don’t want it. But she does.

It is not as though there isn’t a lovely backstory. Believe me, there is a large book somewhere that I could call my backstory. It would chronicle my entire life’s doing, from the first time I was hurt to the first time I hurt someone else. It would say everything that I cannot.

When I was five, I broke my arm for the first time. I ran into my mom’s car. It was parked. I was trying to steer a bike. Turns out I couldn’t. Years later, in 3rd grade, I would finally stop being afraid and learn how to bike. Still didn’t like it. Years later, in 7th grade, I would find out that it was actually my elbow that I had broken.

Some girls who I thought were my friends picked on me for it. It may have been my first experience of getting picked on for being different. It did not matter one little bit, though. I had my friends. We were five. We all make mistakes. I just learned that not everyone can be trusted with anything.

At the age of six I was in kindergarten and there was a girl who did not like me very much, if at all. She picked on me. I was a skinny little thing back then. I have seen pictures. But that did not contribute to the picking on me. Nope. I was picked on because I really liked to eat salads. Salad. I was bullied because I liked salad.

And I was always very nice to her. I can attribute this to a lot of different things, but I think it was because I knew that fighting back wouldn’t accomplish anything. So, I ended up choosing to hang out with guys. There were more of them at the school, anyway. And so I learned that different people can be beneficial.

This girl who bullied me was never someone that I was mad at. I remember that she had a lot of animals at her house. I remember being so jealous because she had every type of pet imaginable and I only had a fish. I named my fish banana head. It was yellow. But this girl had so many pets.

It is funny, in a way. I know that years later it would be told to me that her home life wasn’t exactly perfect. Maybe I hadn’t known that much when I was that little, but I did know not to throw fire to extinguish fire. I think that I was so willing to find good that I did find it. I learned that everyone deserves to be cared about.

In third and fourth grade, there were these two girls. They were nice enough. I can’t exactly pinpoint why it was that they did not like me, but I have my suspicions. I was the fat girl at that point. And, to top it all off, I was in an advanced academics program. I was prone to all the bullying. Didn’t know it.

But this is not the point. The point is that they hurt me and wrote me a letter in my yearbook telling me that I should apologize to them. And so I did. I felt so terrible for having hurt them that I asked for forgiveness. I did get it. They were not without hearts. And so I learned that the loser must give in to demands.

To talk about the next few years is a crazy mess. But there was one time when I saw this guy cry. He was talking about how his sister was mean. I guess that this is a common thing with older siblings. He was this guy that everyone thought was rude and immature. But, from that day on, I had a soft spot for him.

Jump ahead a few years and he and I are in the same German class. He is there, talking with his friend. They begin by having a puzzle solving competition. These guys, who are brilliant, are racing to solve a puzzle. But they talk about the funny things they did in second grade. There was a stick one of them found.

They were the type of guys who had a lot going for them and perhaps I was the only one who saw that one guy who all others had found immature as being absolutely brilliant. He just didn’t try. People are so much more than the facade they lead you to believe. That’s how I learned to look before judging.

But I know that my appearance has always made me feel like the ugly duckling in the room. I have been waiting for so long to become a beautiful swan. A lovely, skinny, beautiful one. Once I was tricked into seeing a therapist about it. Had I known, I may have given it a shot. Thought it was a weight loss clinic.

In eighth grade this new girl came into school. She was from Florida. She was pretty and skinny and blonde, which should have gone without saying. She was everything that I could never be. And my group of friends came to the realization that she was better and picked her over me. Can’t blame them.

In middle school, my theatre teacher gave me roles that were absolutely gorgeous roles and told me I did wonderfully. I believed her. She allowed me to be a lead when there were better actors out there. I was made to think that I was someone with talent. So I tried from then on. I will always thank her for the confidence.

And then I entered high school. I discovered that it was only the same people who got cast. They all looked the same; petite, skinny, and gorgeous. Of course they would get the part. It was made for them. I was then lead to believe that I had no talent. I was swimming on dry land. I learned that people only want certain things.

Still I adored theatre. I decided that, since I would never be pretty enough to be an actress, that I should at least design. At least I could be a part of things that way. And so I took a summer arts class in which I learned the basics of makeup and applying it. It may have been the highlight of my summer.

But that was the summer that I realized that I would have to be proactive in changing my appearance. I did some things that I may not be exactly proud of, and certainly not enough so to mention, but they did happen. I cannot lie. It was seen as the only solution. I learned that mind over matter wields great truth.

Two years later and I would have designed once and been stripped of a crew head title as well. I had told her I would be gone that week. She said it would be perfectly okay. But then she changed her mind at the very end of it all. Some other girl wanted the points. But we all knew who was the first choice: me.

Then comes the piece de la resistance, you could call it. There was this girl who decided that I could show up to all of the rehearsals show week, stay until late at night, but then could not be there for the actual shows. She did apologize to me and I was only mad at myself. I confirmed that I really was not good enough.

So here I am, right now, at the point where tears have run dry and my thoughts are overtaken by daydreams. I have all these lovely times in which I am running away. off to a foreign land. And everything always works out in my favor there. I am allowed to love whomever I please. It is perfection.

Because now I am in love with a beautiful foreign girl. Her demeanor is lovely and when she smiles, she has the cutest dimples. I cannot help but smile and act like a fool whenever I am around her. Love is strange like that. But I am not allowed to love a woman. I have learned to not add another strike on my list.

I was never the daughter that my parents wanted. They tell me that this is not true, that they love me no matter what. But I know better than that. They will love me more if I am into science or math. My mom keeps on telling me to not stop math, because there is a way to creatively use it. What lies.

She just doesn’t think I can make it in the art world. Maybe I can’t. Oh, but what if I can? Don’t I owe it to myself to at least try? Oh, that’s right, she’s the one who fought for years to get me to become skinny and gorgeous. I understand the reasoning, but was it necessary? I am not enough for my own mother.

I have not become secluded because of one event. I have not shut myself out because of one person. It has been a series of thoughts. It has been a long time in the making. It has been a lot of decisions. I have not undertaken this change lightly, and neither have those around me. Poor them.

This is something that scares me, too. I used to be willing to face the world head-on, and now I don’t want to even think it exists. Who have I become? The product of a society, which teaches girls that they are worthless if they are not classically beautiful…
The product of biased marketing. That’s who I am.